And
less alone there, a garden is, in short, an open link bent on forming
more, ever outward, a line between humans and other species, falling
open. . . .

—Cole
Swenson

1. June

I
made a scarecrow out of an old sweatshirt

with
Tyrrell Museum written on it.

And
some old Wrangler jeans.

And
Kodiak socks.

Some
lace-up Sorel workbooks.

A
sweat-stained ballcap from the Ottawa Folk Festival.

A
pair of ragged canvas gloves from Home Depot.

And
Stanfields underwear.

Yes,
it’s me, I think

every
time I enter the garden.

2. July

I
prefer gnomic to cryptic.

because
garden gnomes are supposed to

work
happily in the garden at night.

And
we could use some help.

I’d
like a gnome molded out of resin, as they are these days

in
a miniature form of Mackenzie King.

With
a fedora and not the pointy hat

gnomes
usually come with.

He
could help with the vegetables

unlike
the last time around.

3. August

Gardeners
don’t care about your identity

They
just care about what you do.

So
far, the scarecrow has kept nothing out.

4. September

The
garden gnomes, which I stole from the embassy

are
laughing.

The
inukshuks, which I stole from the river

are
laughing.

The
little donkey, which I stole from Kingsmere,

is
laughing.

All
of the statuary, in all of the gardens

is
laughing.

Because.

5. October

Because
they have all been stolen

except
for the emperor of gnomes, who remains

in
a Cairo madhouse, according to

they
don’t have to worry about their originary selves

and
they don’t have to worry about ownership.

They
just work here.

6. November

There
is a home-made sundial in the yard

and
it’s true, its shadow follows me around all morning

or
the light follows me around

and
that useless thing just gets in the way.

7. December

For
Christmas Sarah gave me a lightweight gardener’s belt

from
Lee Valley I suspect.

It’s
made of non-degradeable synthetic fabric with big

polished
grommets and green trim.

It
has one large pocket for seeds

and
three smaller mesh pockets for shears and string

and
whatever else a gardener might need to carry

to
the place where the codes are scattered.

I
tried it on right away. I strode around the house

like
I was planning something.

After
I took all my clothes off.

And
it fit.

8. January

The
first day of the new year

Is
dull and grey. Fog hangs on the black branches.

Narratives
in tatters.

Narratives
in taters, more like it.

9. February

The
gnomes are sleeping underground.

In
the luvisol, in saline or calcareous material

mixed
by earthworms.

Have
they murdered their daughters?

No,
no, the daughters are running the show.

Wouldn’t
you, after a party like that?

10. March

The
toad lived under a plank beside the garbage can.

He
rarely came out, and when he did he hated the gnomes

and
their political correctness.

He
would pass slowly over the garden

and
note, with some jaundice, the major changes.

He
was convinced that whatever starts out in language

ends
up as pure bureaucracy, and the gnomes

were
just there to give the bureaucracy

a
more human face.

The
gnomes, he said, have endless paper

but
no memory.

Nonetheless,
neither the toad or the gnomes

have
been able to abandon the garden.

11. April

Ah,
the cruelest month

and
it keeps coming back.

It
substitutes a series of degraded words

for
the formal languages.

Instead
of those abstracted gardens

and
their strap-on romances.

It
has radishes, a lot

of
radishes.

12. May

I
waited til May

to
try the new gardener’s belt.

In
the field, I mean.

Just
the belt and some garden boots.

Spring
moonlight, and the garden gnomes

nowhere
in sight.

So
you’ll just have to take this word for it.

Monty
Reid is
a Canadian poet living in Ottawa. His most recent books are The
Luskville Reductions (Brick)
and Disappointment Island (Chaudiere). Recent
chapbooks include Site Conditions (Apt
9), Sweetheart of Mine (BookThug)
and other units of the In the Garden sequence
from Laurel ReedBooks, above/ground press and others. His
online work can be found at Dusie, elimae, ottawater, experiment-o and
others, and recent print work can be seen in Event, The Malahat
Review, Arc and
elsewhere.